At first Kate feared Max would faint. She should have announced it more tactfully. But the words had burst out, and not in the order she’d intended.
‘Here you are,’ she’d gasped, stumbling to a halt ahead of him. ‘All signed and witnessed by two police officers. Max, the Law may be about to punish you, but at least you’re going to get justice.’
Rod stared. ‘Kate?’ he asked coldly.
She tried to gather her wits. ‘The other day Jane and I were talking to Michael Barton. And he made us write this down and witness his signature.’ She flourished the notebook. ‘Goodness knows how the law stands, but it looks to me as if you’re a genuine beneficiary in a genuine will. Unless,’ she added more soberly, ‘he’s made a later one.’
Max leaned against the wall, speechless.
Rod asked with commendable presence of mind, ‘Has a search been made for one?’
‘That’d be the local force’s job. But I’ll get on to it. Rod – can someone inherit in these circumstances?’
‘Don’t rely on me – I’m only a policeman.’ He turned to Max, who was now regaining his colour. ‘But for God’s sake get your solicitor on to this now.’
‘Time for home, I’d say,’ Rod observed, draining his cup – they were in his room having a self-congratulatory coffee, courtesy of Rod’s wonderful machine.
‘What about Mrs Hamilton’s papers?’ Kate asked. She was intrigued, almost intrigued enough to push back her meal with Rod. But she didn’t want to say that in front of Jane.
Probably Rod didn’t want the meal postponed. But it seemed he didn’t want to say that in front of Jane either.
‘Leave them till the morning,’ he said. ‘Probably no more use than Michael Barton’s papers. Interesting observations on the mores of the period, but nothing else,’ he explained to Jane. He got to his feet, looking at his watch.
The rush hour had already begun. Kate contemplated the queues to Kings Heath with less than enthusiasm: it would be so much easier to nip out and buy a dress for tonight. That way she could come back to look at those papers. They couldn’t wait till the morning, could they? It would save Rod a long circular trip, too, as she pointed out over the internal phone; though he insisted he’d have been perfectly happy to make it, she could tell he was relieved. If she’d got a box-file of papers, he’d got a whole in-tray.
A very swift sortie to Rackhams – even quicker because the saleswomen left her in very little doubt that it was extremely close to closing time – for a beautifully cut short layered dress and some strappy sandals and it was back to the papers. And not all that long before she was knocking on Rod’s door and shoving a sheet under his nose.
‘We’ve got ourselves our murderer,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s all here. She’s had a bad heart for years, apparently. I wonder how she’s survived so long.’
‘Remember the creaking gate proverb,’ he said. ‘So how and why?’
‘Why: because she could hear, and often see, the damage he was doing his kids. How: by grinding up some tablets and giving them to Edna to put on his breakfast porridge! He was the only one allowed to have sugar on his cereal, apparently – a hangover from rationing, Mrs Hamilton says. Rod, now what?’
‘She wanted you to know. You.’
‘A sort of deathbed confession?’
He shook his head. ‘You’ll have to ask her. When the medics say she’s ready for that sort of questioning. God, Kate, she won’t live long enough to go on trial. If she did, she wouldn’t get a sentence. Can you imagine any jury convicting? A judge sending her down? Jesus!’ He closed his eyes, ageing his face five years.
Kate put a hand out to touch his arm. The last few days had been as bad for him as for anyone, hadn’t they?
‘The great thing is that this absolves Max,’ she said. ‘Oh, God, you don’t think that that’s why she’s done it?’
‘Are you going to give her the third degree to find out?’
‘Not unless you authorise me to.’
‘Not in a million years! Hell, I’m going to have to take advice about this, Kate. In the meantime, come on. Time to celebrate.’
The champagne was making Kate giggly. Not that she hadn’t been before. Giggly and tearful and over the moon about the Barton business and outraged by the strippogram and puzzled by Lizzie and weeping inside for Graham and grateful to Rod for his amused forbearance.
‘The next stage is where I fall asleep with my face in the soup,’ she announced, as he held her chair for her.
‘How very fortunate that we’ve chosen the hors d’oeuvre,’ he said.
‘And ordered mineral water, I hope.’
‘Indeed.’ He leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘I’ve never seen you so relaxed before.’
‘For relaxed read pissed,’ she grinned. ‘What a day, Rod! Oh, I do hope that old man gets his loot.’ She clasped her hands in mock prayer.
‘I’m sure …’ he began, before his face clouded. ‘I gather …’ His eyes dropped to her ring. ‘I’ve wanted to ask all day … Do I gather that Graham …?’
She shook her head emphatically. ‘I bought it for myself. There’s a very serious explanation I’ll favour you with on a less festive occasion, but this was from me with love to me.’ She spread her hand. The big ruby flared in the candlelight. ‘I hope – you don’t think it’s vulgar, do you?’
‘Are friends allowed to say that deep rich reds suit you? With hair as dark as yours and skin so fine … Sorry, that doesn’t sound like a friend at all.’
‘My Irish ancestry, I suppose,’ she reflected, realising that she was hardly rebuffing him. ‘But I’ve descended further than most. I’ve never even been to Ireland to check out my roots.’
‘It’s very fashionable. One day I’d like … Ah, I’d forgotten this.’ He burrowed under the table and passed her a large, heavy parcel.
She stared at the professional wrapping. ‘It’s a shame to undo it.’ Why had he left it till now? Why not simply handed it over in the car? Perhaps Rod had less of the policeman, more of the showman, in his veins than she’d realised. Anyway, she took the knife he proffered and slit her way gingerly in. An encyclopaedia of antiques. ‘Rod, it’s wonderful. It’s just what I need. God, what clichés. But I mean them. Thank you.’
Of course, he’d handed it across the table so she wouldn’t have to kiss him – and perhaps so that he wouldn’t have to risk the rejection of not being kissed. But the look in his eyes told her that he hoped a book concerned with the past might bring them together in the future.
Only time could tell. They were both adult enough to understand words like rebound and second-best, which would float unbidden between them until she’d evaluated her feelings for Graham. Evaluated? Conquered!
Her ring flashed again. Only when she’d learned to love herself, it said, could she start returning someone else’s love. Rod’s or whoever’s.
‘Hors d’oeuvres, madam?’ the waiter enquired.